


Idle Hands

by HammerToFall_Archivist



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 01
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-11-19
Updated: 2002-11-19
Packaged: 2018-12-15 17:52:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11811186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HammerToFall_Archivist/pseuds/HammerToFall_Archivist
Summary: By Frankie LyndonVila performs a Tarot reading.





	Idle Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Note from oracne, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hammer to Fall](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hammer_to_Fall), a Blake’s 7 archive, which has been offline for several years. To keep the works available for readers and scholars, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project after June 2017. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on the [Hammer to Fall collection profile](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/HammerToFall/profile).
> 
> originally published in WHOMSOEVER HOLDS THIS SWORD (1993)

At first glance it was obvious Blake and Avon had been arguing again. It was also obvious that even if the computer tech hadn't yet won the ongoing war the two constantly seemed to engage in, he had at least won this particular battle. Blake's expression was thunderous, set in lines of barely contained fury. He was wearing one of his "pirate" outfits, fitted breeches with knee-high boots and a billowing shirt and vest. The shirt laced up the chest and the flapping of the extremely full sleeves seemed to mimic the anger of the big man's strides. Avon, who followed a bare half-dozen steps behind, wore a look of smug satisfaction even though anger still sparked his dark eyes. As usual, the tech was securely buttoned up in a black turtleneck and a black and gray tunic. Not for the first time, Vila wondered if the computer expert was aware how much about himself his choice of clothing revealed to anyone observant enough to notice.

Blake paused upon seeing the remainder of his crew gathered on the center flight couch. For a moment it seemed as if he would join the little group; then, with a pointed glare at the computer tech who had moved to stand in front of Zen's facia, the rebel turned to the communications station.

After the slightest of hesitations, Vila returned his attention to his rapt audience. Bored beyond belief, the thief had wandered onto the flight deck a short time before to discover Jenna, Cally, and Gan already present. As the three were complaining bitterly about the lack of entertainment on board the Liberator, and had proven a receptive audience in the past, Vila had launched into a demonstration of some of the more light-hearted skills a thief picks up in his travels. When the arrival of Blake and Avon momentarily diverted his attention, Vila was in the process of convincing the others to assist him with a small experiment.

"So you see," the thief continued, "it runs in my family. My grandmum had the Sight very strongly, she did. She could tell a total stranger all about his life, current and past, then go on to tell him what his future looked like. If you'd lost something she could find it--people, valuables, anything. She passed the ability on to my mum, and she passed it to me. Now, in my case," he quickly qualified, "it's fairly weak. For some reason, the Sight always seems to pass most strongly through the female line.  _My_  gifts," Vila continued in a self-deprecatory tone, "are little more than parlor tricks by comparison, but they can still be amusing." Assuming the persona he affectionately thought of as "Restal the Mystic," Vila concluded his pitch. "Now, who'd like to be the first subject?"

Avon's dulcet tones were the last the thief expected to hear. Even though the tech had moved to a good vantage point and had been staring at the little group, arms crossed, the thief had expected him to ignore the entire byplay as beneath his dignity. However, when the content of the other man's comment sank in, Vila had to admit it was right in character.

"Oh, I definitely think Blake should go first. It wouldn't do for him to expect something of his 'rabble' that he wouldn't do himself." The computer expert's words positively dripped venom. Avon may have won the latest skirmish, whatever it had been, but he was still furious with the rebel leader. "Besides, it might do some good. Perhaps Vila can fill in Fearless Leader's memory. It must be terribly frustrating, forever running into people one should remember and not recognizing them."

Vila quickly reconsidered. "Furious" was definitely too mild a word to describe Avon's current mood. Usually, even the viper-tongued tech had better taste and more compassion than to bring up the state of Blake's memory. Drawing a deep breath, Vila prepared to step in before the verbal sparring turned even more ugly. He was cut off by Blake's reply.

"You have a point, Avon," the big man drawled in tones as frigid as any the tech had ever produced. "But I'm not the only one around here with unanswered questions in his past. Wouldn't you like to know why the 'great banking swindle' failed? What  _did_  you do wrong?" This bit was mocking. "I'll be a subject if you'll go first." The last was an obvious challenge, and Vila watched the two men, scarcely daring to breathe as they glared daggers at each other.

Suddenly, Avon grinned. It was a grin singularly lacking in humor, the sort that could freeze its target at twenty paces and could cause you to look around nervously for an avenue of escape. "Well," he drawled, his tone generously laced with contempt, "so this is how the great leader leads."

Before Blake could defend against the less than complimentary light the tech had cast on his challenge, Avon concluded, "And, as usual, I'll do my bit for the Glorious Cause." The sarcasm was thick enough to cut. Moving to sit next to the thief, he added, "Do your worst, Vila."

With a faint grimace of distaste, Cally got up from her position on Avon's other side and moved to the weapons console. Vila could sympathize; he didn't need psychic powers of his own to know that the Auron found close proximity to the computer tech in his current vitriolic mood more than her empathic abilities could handle.

Realizing that Avon was watching him with an expectantly cocked eyebrow, Vila swallowed nervously and resumed his patter. "My particular skill is in the ancient science of Tarot," he began as he pulled a velvet pouch from an inner jacket pocket. From this pouch, he extracted an oversized deck of cards. The cards, obviously extremely old, had the look of careful use and cherished care.

"Card tricks," Avon sneered and made to rise from the couch.

Putting out a hand to restrain the other man, Vila objected, "There's a lot more to it than just card tricks, Avon. It's a very old and respected occult science that's been practiced for centuries." The thief's defense stumbled to a halt as the particularly nasty and affronted glare Avon was directing at him registered. Following the downward direction of the tech's icy stare, Vila blanched and began to stutter nervously. "Oh...I, um...I mean, I never...."

"If you wish to keep that hand attached to your body, I strongly suggest that you remove it from my arm immediately."

Complying instantly, Vila attempted to string together a coherent explanation and apology. Avon listened to the other man babble for a few moments, then cut him off. "Never mind, you fool, just get on with the demonstration." The exasperated tone made it evident that the computer genius had used up his entire store of good will and patience and should be pushed no further. Attempting to regain the earlier mood, Vila returned to his well-practiced patter.

"The Tarot is one of the earliest forms of divination. Each of the seventy-eight cards has a definite meaning and interpretation. When the subject mixes them up and selects several out, those cards produce a reading. If you are knowledgeable in the meaning of the Tarot, it can offer insight into philosophy and spiritual values." Noting Avon's burgeoning sneer, Vila hurriedly added, "And, of course, at the simplest level, and in the right hands, it is an extremely accurate method of fortune telling."

Spreading the cards out on the table before him, the thief-turned-mystic continued, "The Tarot consists of seventy-eight cards—twenty-two trump cards, plus four suits of fourteen cards each. The twenty-two trump cards are called the Major Arcana while the four suits together are the Minor Arcana. The Major Arcana all bear names and numbers beginning with the Fool, number zero, and ending with the World, number twenty-one." Indicating each card as he named it, Vila went through the rest of the trump cards. By this time his fascinated audience, Blake and Cally included, had moved in closer in order to get a better look at the detailed artwork on the brightly colored cards.

"They're beautiful," Jenna sighed as she reached down to pick up the Empress. She found herself touching bare table as the thief's quick hands beat her to her goal.

"Yes, they are," he readily agreed, "but I'm going to have to ask you not to touch them. The only people who should touch the deck are the person they belong to, me, and the person who is receiving the reading. You wouldn't want to confuse the cards, would you? I mean, it would be a little embarrassing if Avon got your reading."

 

Shaking her head at Vila's apparent foolishness, the pilot shrugged and, with and open-handed gesture, indicated that the thief should continue.

"As I said before, the Minor Arcana is composed of four suits, the Wands, the Cups, the Swords, and the Pentacles. Each suit has cards numbered one through ten, a Page, a Knight, a Queen, and a King." Noticing that Avon was beginning to look impatient, Vila decided to leave off on the history lesson and get on with the reading. "Now, in order to do a reading, the subject, in this case Avon, must first select his Significator. This card represents the subject and is removed from the deck." As he spoke, Vila laid the four Kings on the table before the computer tech. "Pick one of the Kings, Avon," Vila instructed.

Avon stared at the four cards for several moments, then, without raising his eyes, spoke in a suspicious tone. "Assuming I'm taking any of this seriously, each of these cards has a specific meaning. Therefore, whichever card I choose as my Significator will say something about me, about my personality. Is that correct?" With the question, Avon raised wary and accusing eyes to the thief. It was obvious that the tech was coming to the realization that there was far more to this harmless little game than he'd assumed.

"Well yes, that's true. But," he added, forestalling the next question, "I can't tell you what the significance of each suit is. It would bias the reading. Just look at the pictures and choose the one that appeals to you." Avon continued to glare at the thief. It was obvious from his expression that he felt that Vila had intentionally placed in this awkward position.

Seconds ticked by, then the tension was broken by Blake's explosive sigh. "Must you turn everything into a confrontation. Just choose a damned card!"

The angry look he'd been impaling Vila with was momentarily transferred to the rebel leader. Then Avon turned back to the cards, considered a moment, and selected.

"Right, that's the King of Cups." Vila was amazed how much easier it was to breathe now that he was no longer the sole focus of that incendiary stare. "We'll lay him aside and place the rest of the Kings back into the deck." Gathering the remaining seventy-seven cards together, Vila neatly arranged the stack, then surreptitiously took a few deep breaths. His mum had called it "centering," said it had something to do with getting all your psychic energies organized. Vila just found that if he took a moment to calm himself, physically and mentally, before beginning a reading, he got much better results. But he didn't want to try to explain that to the already clearly skeptical tech, so the exercises were completed quickly and without fanfare. After a moment, Vila handed the pack of cards to Avon. "Now, you have to think of a question you'd like to ask the Tarot. It can be general or specific, but in order to get the best reading you have to state the question aloud,then think about it as you shuffle the deck several times."

Vila had expected the other man to balk at this instruction as well, and for a moment it looked as if he would, then a rather nasty smile came over his face. "All right," he practically purred, in a tone that boded ill for someone, "I have a question."

As the tech began to shuffle the cards in a surprisingly professional manner, he stated his question, "Will I ever be free of being plagued by empty-headed idealists?"

Vila had been half-expecting something of the sort, so he managed to restrain his reaction to a silent gulp. Jenna reacted with an indignant gasp and would have leaped to her feet but for the restraining hands Blake placed on her shoulders as he leaned over the back of the flight couch. Subsiding reluctantly, the blonde continued to seethe. "Very amusing, Avon," was the rebel's tired comment. "Can we get on with this?"

Vila's eyes were drawn by Blake's tone of voice. In that moment, secure in the fact that the computer expert's attention was directed elsewhere, the rebel's expression was totally unguarded. Blake looked so weary, his warm brown eyes so full of frustrated pain, that for a moment Vila almost spoke. Almost chastised Avon for his calculatedly hurtful comments. Almost rushed to assure Blake that the other man didn't really hate him as much as he would have everyone believe. But the next moment, as Blake realized he was being observed, the expression was replaced with one of wry amusement and the instinctive reaction passed, not acted upon. Probably just as well, the thief acknowledged mentally; people who scolded Avon tended to have exceptionally short life expectancies.

Accepting the now well-mixed cards from the unrepentant tech, Vila picked up his narrative. "I'll be using a spread called the Celtic Cross. In it, the Significator is placed in the middle and the first card covers it. The second card crossed the first. These two cards are the center cards. The next four, cards three through six, are placed at each compass point around the center cards; these are called the cross. The final four cards, cards seven through ten, are placed in a column, bottom to top, to the right of the cross, and are called the staff." Laying out the cards as he spoke, the thief-turned-fortune teller ground to a halt as he placed the tenth card. Consternation on his expressive features, Vila stared at the spread before him for long moments. Realizing that his sudden silence was causing his subject's suspicious nature to surface, Vila resumed his explanation.

"As with each Tarot card, each position of the spread carries a specific meaning. For example, the first card placed is called the cover and shows the basic situation or central issue. In this case, the cover is the five of Pentacles which usually represents people working together toward a common goal. The second, or crossing, card is the Knight of Swords. The crossing card develops the idea presented by the cover card, so in this case the Knight of Swords means the person you are working with is very brave and determined. The third card is the Basis, which can shed insight into the root cause of the central issue. Your basis is the Emperor from the Major Arcana. The Emperor symbolizes the rules and laws of society and suggests that the subject has been treated unfairly by these rules." Knowing there was no way he could continue, Vila looked up with an intentionally ingratiating smile.

"Each of the other positions have a significant insight to add but, to make a long story short, the answer to your question, Avon, is no. You won't be free of Blake any time in the near future. Not, in fact, until you and he resolve the injustices that the Federation has done to you both."

There were several moments of total silence as everyone watched the volatile computer tech, wondering how he'd react to Vila's very personal comments. Gan even edged forward on his seat, ready to leap in if Avon went for the smaller man's throat. They were all surprised when the dark man burst out with a harsh laugh and began to applaud slowly. "Oh, very good, Vila, very good indeed. If I had any credits on me, I would definitely cross your palm with them. Isn't that the accepted tradition?" It wasn't really a question. As questions went, it was no more genuine than the feigned admiration in the man's voice. Avon was furious, he just wasn't demonstrating it overtly.

With a burst of motion so sudden that Vila flinched in spite of himself, Avon rose to loom over the fortune teller. Straightening his black and gray tunic with restless hands, the tech glared down his patrician nose at the assembled crowd, then pivoted on his heel. As he exited the flight deck, Avon called over his shoulder, "Blake, I release you from that ridiculous bet. One of us wasting his time on this ludicrous nonsense is one too many."

The tension that had permeated the flight deck since Blake and Avon's arrival decreased slightly. Realizing that he craved nothing so much as a tall drink and the privacy of his room, the hapless fortune teller broke the silence.

"If you haven't time right now, Blake...," Vila began, no more eager to perform a reading for the rebel leader than Blake apparently was to be the subject, "it would be okay. I mean, I'm sure you've got things to do, and I am rather tired."

"There really are some things I should take care of," Blake stated apologetically, visibly grateful for the avenue of escape, yet unwilling to appear frightened by the prospect of participating in a parlor game.

"That's fine," Vila stated, hurriedly gathering up the cards and placing them back in their velvet pouch. "We can do it some other time," was his parting comment as he hurried off the flight deck. Behind him he could hear everyone finding something to do. It appeared he wasn't he only one who'd discovered that there were worse things than boredom.

#

Back in the privacy of his cabin, Vila fell against the closed door with a sigh of relief. When enough energy had returned to his shaking limbs, the thief crossed the room and removed a bottle of aged brandy from its hiding place. This was quality liquor; even Avon would have been unable to find anything to criticize. Pouring a generous measure into a glass, Vila made to replace the bottle. Almost of its own volition, his hand paused halfway through the movement. Gazing at the old bottle of expensive and jealously guarded wine, Vila again replayed the reading in his mind. With a shudder, he closed the hidey hole and, bottle in one hand, glass in the other, shuffled to his bunk and began some serious drinking.

After half an hour--and half a bottle--Vila felt calmer, more able to deal with things. He realized it was Dutch courage, but sometimes when a body needed strength and courage badly enough, he couldn't be too particular about the source. Taking a deep breath, the thief removed the cards from their velvet pouch and again laid the Tarot in the Celtic Cross, choosing the same cards that Avon had selected. It had been the most disturbing reading he had ever given. With hindsight, he realized he should have expected something of the sort, but it had just never occurred to him.

His first warning should have been the Significator. At first glance, the King of Cups appeared a nice safe choice for the computer expert. That particular King represents a creative and talented individual, someone who is successful and respected in his field. All very appropriate for the computer genius. However, the King of Cups also represents someone who is outwardly calm and uninvolved. A facade that can cover dark and complex emotions. Not mentioning that had been Vila's first evasion. While he'd never once lied throughout the reading, the meanings he had given Avon had been superficial at best.

How could he have told the austere and foreboding tech that the five of Pentacles really suggested a strong bond between two people, the sort of thing that went beyond love or sex, and occasionally even surmounted death? And the Knight of Swords, obviously a reference to Blake, signified not only a brave and determined individual, but someone who is brave to the point of recklessness. Someone who rides roughshod over others and often leaps before looking.

There was a great deal more to the basis card than Vila had admitted, as well. The card in that position reaches far into the subject's past and reflects influences that helped create the person he or she is today. To see the Emperor in that position simply underlined the importance of Blake in the computer tech's life. The Emperor, a card of structure and control, signified that Blake was a powerful force in Avon's life and that, in some ways, the tech felt himself under Blake's domination.

The next card, the one placed in the "recent past" position, had made it obvious to Vila that he could not continue the reading. The three of Swords, placed upside down, indicated someone who had experienced extreme sorrow in his life but had been unable to come to grips with it. It suggested that, rather than deal with his problems and emotions, Avon pushed them away and refused to acknowledge them. The rest of the spread had been equally disturbing.

The "possible outcome" card, the reversed Moon, had spoken of someone uncomfortable with his emotions, who fought against them. Unfortunately, that very battle increased the ability of those repressed emotions to do damage.

The "near future" card, the reversed Chariot, signified someone who holds his life together through sheer willpower. The contradictions this card engendered would slowly tear that life apart.

The "self" card, the four of Swords, was perhaps one of the most revealing. It signified someone who would rather isolate himself from others than appear helpless, someone who indiscriminately pushes away all offers of help.

The card placed in the "environment" position, in this case the reversed ten of Cups, shows the effect outside influences on the subject. The ten of Cups suggested that the subject had had an insecure or abusive childhood, definitely not a topic one could easily bring up with the touchy computer tech.

Avon's reading had placed the two of Swords in the "hopes and fears" position, a position which illuminates what the person expects to happen. The two of Swords signified a person who indiscriminately keeps friends and foes at an emotional distance in order to maintain their emotional balance. But the catch was that the perceived balance was, at best, precarious. The very act of shutting others out prevented it from being anything else.

As if the deep-seated fears and insecurities revealed by the reading hadn't been disturbing enough, the last card, the "outcome" card had shaken Vila to his foundations. The outcome card did as the name would suggest. It summed up the influences of the other nine cards and projected the future. Turning over the three of Cups in that position had been a real shock. On the surface, this card spoke of friendship and of sharing life's burdens, but a deeper meaning was entwined destinies. And when viewed with the five of Pentacles, which had appeared as the cover card, it suggested a repeating cycle of shared destinies.

One other belief Vila's mystic mother and grandmother had passed on to him was the belief in reincarnation. It seemed apparent to him that the answer to Avon's question was more than a simple "no," it was actually an emphatic "never." The Tarot stated that Avon and Blake had not only known each other in previous lives, but that they shared a similar relationship in each incarnation. And would share it again in the next and the next and the next.

How could he tell the irascible computer expert that he may as well give up trying to hate Blake because destiny had seen fit to pair them through time and, until some unknown goal was accomplished, nothing could change that. Perhaps Fate was trying to force Avon to lower his formidable shields and allow the other man to see his hurts and weaknesses, and let him heal them. Perhaps if Vila told Avon the truth of the reading it would help the process along, move the two souls toward their final peace. Or perhaps that was the absolute last thing he should do. Perhaps his meddling in destiny would throw a spanner in the works and prevent the two souls from working things out. Perhaps the only solution that could truly solve the dilemma was one reached on their own, requiring lifetimes of blood, sweat, and pain. Quite the conundrum, and not one that would be solved easily or quickly.

Wondering how a Delta grade ignorant thief ever managed to get himself into such a situation, Vila resolved to consider the matter at length--tomorrow. He gathered up the Tarot deck and, with an unsteadiness that owed at least as much to his emotional turmoil as the alcohol he'd consumed, tucked it into its hiding place. With a tired sigh, Vila eased his aching head onto the pillow and closed his eyes.  _After all_ , he rationalized his choice to deal with the problem at a later date,  _this dilemma has existed for innumerable incarnations, it's not going anywhere in the next few days_. As the thief edged toward sleep on a cloud of brandy, a stray thought drifted through his mind. He just hoped Avon didn't get curious and start researching the meaning of the Tarot on his own.

The imagined ramifications succeeded in keeping Vila up the rest of the night.

 

 

the end


End file.
